Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance

by Gena Showalter

  Jude wasn’t her husband, so the doctors and nurses hadn’t given her any updates when he was taken to a private room to have his wound stitched.

  Her baby could have perished in between one blink and another, and there would have been nothing she could do to stop it.

  Ugh! The back and forth thoughts were giving her whiplash. And really, this was another helping of the torment Jude lived with—existed with—on a daily basis.

  If he continued on this path...

  Only destruction awaited him.

  He had to fight and defeat the fear. Not just for Ryanne, not anymore, but for himself. Fear wasn’t healthy. Mentally, emotionally or physically. He would put himself in an early grave, his life filled with pain and regret.

  But how could she help him? He’d coexisted with the monster for so long, he might not recognize himself without it.

  What’s more, tonight had only exacerbated the problem. He’d barely spoken to her on the drive home, had asked her the same question three times. Are you okay?

  The stall door opened. Jude reached inside and shut off the water. “Let’s dry you off.” He offered his hand and helped her stand. His gaze remained just over her shoulder as he wrapped a towel around her. “You’ll be happy to know Belle and her lords and lordettes are asleep in the sunroom.”

  He was shirtless, a bandage on his arm, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. After wringing out her hair, he pulled one of his T-shirts over her head, gently tucked her arms through the holes.

  Radiating a quiet but savage tension, he carried her to bed.

  “I’m not exactly a lightweight, and your arm—” she began.

  “Is fine. Just a little sore. And you are a lightweight.”

  When he pulled away, she tugged on his arm, careful of his wound, urging him to lie beside her. “Stay with me tonight,” she beseeched. “Please.”

  A pause. A twitch of the muscle under his eye. Then he removed his prosthesis and curled into her. As one minute bled into another, she waited for the tension to drain from him.

  It didn’t.

  “Talk to me,” she begged. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “I keep replaying the shooting inside my head. How close you came to... How quickly I could have lost you.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I want to kill him,” he admitted.

  “No. If you were locked away—”

  “I wouldn’t be caught. I promise you, no one will ever find the body.”

  “No. You won’t just risk your freedom, you’ll risk your heart.” She dug her nails into his chest. “Besides, someone else would simply rise up in the ranks and take Dushku’s place.”

  “Ryanne—”

  “No, I don’t want to talk about Dushku anymore.” She wanted Jude. No ultimatum. No thought for any moment but this one. “Kiss me. Make me forget tonight ever happened.” Let me do the same for you.

  He required no further prompting. With an animalistic groan, he slanted his lips over hers, his tongue seeking entrance. No, demanding entrance. He kissed her with fervor and heat, nothing held back.

  He was passion unleashed. “Tell me I’m your boyfriend. Say it. At least admit that much.”

  Love for him consumed her. Love and need. Being without him these past few days had been hellish. Now she had a fever, and he had the cure. Was Jude perfect? No. Would they have their fair share of problems? Probably. Did she want to live without him? Never. Was he perfect for her? Absolutely.

  “You’re my boyfriend, Jude Laurent.”

  Brutal satisfaction tightened the muscles in his face. “And you, Ryanne Wade, are my girlfriend.”

  His big hands kneaded her breasts. As her nipples puckered for him, he grazed his thumbs over the aching peaks, his touch almost desperate. But then, her touch was just the same. Perhaps even more so. Almost lost him. She attempted to caress, savor and brand every inch of him all at once; she failed, but enjoyed every second as she reaffirmed he was here, he was well and they were together.

  Now and always?

  He kissed a path down her body, sucking on her nipples through her T-shirt, then rucked up the cotton and tongued her navel. With no panties to impede him, he slid a finger deep inside her, wringing a cry of bliss from her.

  “Spread your legs,” he rasped. “That’s it. Wider. I need another taste of you.”

  Cool air met the fiery heat of her core, and she shivered. Again he kissed a path down...down...his head hovered between her thighs, the warmth of his breath incendiary, sweeping her up in a maddening frenzy.

  “Jude.” Her back curved and her hips lifted, as she tried to force his mouth on her. “Do it. Please.”

  One second passed, two. The agony of anticipation only intensified her need for him.

  “I love your sweet pleas.” The bed tilted as he leaned over and switched on the lamp. Light spilled over them both.

  Beautiful Jude. Savage pleasure glittered in eyes no longer navy but black, the pupils blown. The scar that bisected his lips only added to his brutal appeal, reminding her of his strength, his will to survive no matter the blockades. The muscles in his chest bulged, covered in her scratch marks.

  “So lovely,” he said, his voice thick—and then he licked between her thighs.

  A sound—half moan, half scream—left her as her arms shot overhead, her fingers curling around the headboard. Her spine arched, a thousand tremors moving through her at once. He devoured her until she writhed against him, begging incoherently for release. Then his fingers joined the play. First one, then another. They worked in tandem with his tongue, his wicked, wonderful tongue.

  “You like this,” he rasped. “You’ve never been so wet.”

  The moment, the very second, he licked her again, she shot off like a rocket. The orgasm tore through her, her tremors rocking the bed. As she collapsed onto the mattress, limp, she expected him to glide his massive length inside her. He rolled to her side instead.

  Their panting breaths blended as she climbed on top of him, ready to ride him to release.

  “No,” he grated, his hands on her waist, holding her still. “I meant what I said. No sex until you agree to marry me.”

  He thought to deny her the pleasure of his pleasure? “Oral is sex,” she pointed out.

  “All right, I’ll rephrase. No penetration until you agree to marry me.”

  “You sure?” She cupped her breasts, and his gaze lowered, suddenly riveted on her nipples. “Your fingers had no problem penetrating my—”

  “I know what my fingers did.” His grip on her tightened as he flashed his teeth. Sweat glistened on his brow, and a passion-fever flushed his cheeks. This man wanted her. Wanted her bad. The knowledge electrified her.

  “Well. Blue balls is a serious condition. I’m sure it must claim the life of at least one male every year.” With her coyest smile, she inched down his body, tucked his underwear beneath his testicles and let her mouth hover over the glistening head of his erection. “If you’d rather wait for marriage, feel free to stop me any time...”

  A vein throbbed in his brow. His hands fisted on the sheets as a strained sound left him.

  “I’ll take that as a please, darling Ryanne, keep going,” she said—and gobbled him up.

  * * *

  JUDE HELD A sleeping Ryanne in the crook of his uninjured arm all night and deep into the morning. Sunlight seeped through the window curtains, but didn’t reach the bed. Unable to rest, his mind too chaotic, he’d gotten up a few times to ensure she would have everything she needed when she awoke. A glass of water and a handful of saltines; he’d also reattached his prosthesis in case she was too sick to walk into the bathroom on her own.

  What was he going to do about Dushku?

  Ryanne was right. Killing him would do no go
od if someone else—someone worse—took his place.

  At first Jude had wondered if Savannah had set him up. If it comes down to me or you, I’ll send your loved ones flowers. Then he’d smartened up. She adored her boy, and would never willingly place him in a dangerous situation.

  As Ryanne began to stir, Jude hid his emotions behind a mental wall, a difficult feat but one he just managed. He’d done it many times for missions, allowing him to focus on facts. This time, he needed an answer to his questions: Why? Why had Dushku opted for such a public attempt on Savannah’s life? Why not follow her, sneak into the cabin and shoot her while she slept? Perhaps Brock or Jude could have been framed for the crime.

  Had someone other than Dushku wanted her dead?

  To Jude’s knowledge, she had no other enemies.

  Had one of Dushku’s employees taken it upon himself to remove his boss’s problem?

  Possible, but not likely. The consequences for disobedience had to be steep.

  Perhaps Dushku had acted on emotion rather than logic?

  The idea had merit, but it would mean Savannah’s defection with Thomas had pushed the old man past his limits. Perhaps he truly loved the boy. Though why risk the boy getting hurt accidentally?

  A soft sigh drifted from Ryanne as she stretched, her body rubbing against Jude’s. Air hissed between his teeth. Last night she’d wrung him dry, sucking on his shaft as if it were her favorite candy. He’d enjoyed every second, and yet, denying his body’s need to sink inside her, to fill her up and brand her, had left him...sensitive.

  “Morning,” she rasped, her lashes fluttering open. As he grazed his fingers over the ridges in her spine, a sweet smile played at the corners of her lips.

  Every day, every second, this woman grew in beauty.

  And someone nearly took her away from me.

  In a rush, his emotions scaled the wall he’d erected, so swift and ravenous they reminded him of zombies he’d once seen in a movie; those zombies had crawled on top of each other, each one like a rung on a ladder, until someone finally reached the top of the wall and every zombie spilled over. An apt comparison. His emotions had risen from the dead. All the fear, all the dread, all the rage. Each flooded him, stronger than before; perhaps they’d been pumping iron and shooting up steroids. He’d lost so many things in his young life, but Ryanne and their child would not be added to the list—no matter what measures he had to take.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Surprisingly well. My stomach is calm.” She draped her arm over his chest, resting her chin on top of her hand. “But yours isn’t, is it? You’re all worked up again.”

  Silence would serve him better than truth.

  “Do you need another tongue-lashing, cowboy? Or perhaps you’d like to take me for a morning ride?”

  The desire that had simmered in his blood now began to boil. Resist! Marriage was too important to him. Ignoring her question—barely—he said, “Let’s talk, get to know each other better.”

  The flash of a grin. “All right. What do you want to know?”

  Everything. “If you could trade lives with someone for an entire day, who would you choose?”

  Her brow wrinkled with confusion before she laughed outright. “Why would I want to trade places with anyone? You look at no one else the way you look at me.”

  Boiling hotter...

  He kissed her temple, barely resisting the urge to claim her lips. “How did I ever resist you?”

  “Don’t know. It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries. But what about you? Who would you want to trade places with?”

  “I think...you. I’d seduce myself again and again.”

  She snorted. “If I hadn’t already lo—liked you, I would have started just now.”

  Lo—liked. Had she almost said she loved him?

  “Next question,” he said. The more he learned about her, the more he lo—liked her, too. “If you had to spend the rest of your life on a deserted island, but could only take three men with you, who would you choose? One has to be from a book, one from a movie and one from real life.”

  A slow smile spread over her face. “My fictional man would be Owen Perkins from Naked Pursuit by Jill Monroe. He would be my silver screen hottie as well, since the book was made into a Lifetime movie. And my real life man would be...hmm...let’s see...let me think...”

  Jude smacked her butt. “First, what’s so special about this Owen guy that you need two of him, and second, you have to think about the one from real life? Seriously?”

  “First, Owen is a sexy fireman and I have a new appreciation for his line of work. Plus, he’s very good with handcuffs—something else I’m beginning to appreciate. I’d like to keep you trapped in this bed forever. Second, I guess I’d pick you as my real life hero.”

  “You guess? And I hope you’re serious about the handcuffs because I will be buying a pair.”

  She giggled, an adorable girlish giggle that caused his chest to ache.

  The phone on the nightstand suddenly buzzed, letting him know the security feed from the Scratching Post had just hit his in-box. They stiffened in unison, all thoughts of love and sex gone.

  He swiped up his cell and opened the video, dreading what he’d find. Another fire? Another gunman?

  Instead, he watched as his in-laws knocked on the front door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  HOW HAD RYANNE gone from almost being shot to wanting to be shot?

  Easy: the arrival of Jude’s former in-laws, Russ and Carrie Jones.

  After checking the security feed, Jude dressed in a hurry and gently requested Ryanne do the same. Get your ass in gear, shortcake. I don’t want you out of my sight.

  As she’d donned a lace blouse and a pair of unripped jeans, wanting to look her best, curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d willingly trailed Jude downstairs.

  First introductions were made. Names only. Then the couple had fawned over him, worried about his injury, wanting every detail.

  “Your message last night scared me to death,” Carrie said. “Someone shot you, but you don’t want us to worry about it if we hear gossip, because you’re fine. Well, we’re worried. We need more information, Jude. We hopped in the car first thing this morning. Your friend Brock told us where you were staying, so here we are.”

  They’d peppered him with a million questions about the shooting, and when they were satisfied—if a bit frustrated because he wouldn’t tell them anything about why or who—they asked him about his life. Ryanne stood in the background, wanting to duck behind the bar every time Carrie tossed her a weird look, like who the eff are you, and why are you still here?

  These people had lost their daughter and grandchildren. They wouldn’t be happy when they discovered Jude had found a replacement family. Not that Ryanne could ever replace Constance.

  Jude offered only the barest of answers, mentioning the security business he’d started with friends, and how he was protecting Ryanne from the new bad guy in town. Only then did Carrie relax.

  Nope. She wouldn’t be happy to learn Jude and Ryanne were dating.

  Perhaps I should slink away, leave the family to their reunion? That way, Jude wouldn’t be tempted to confess he was in a relationship, and inadvertently hurt the couple.

  The front door suddenly burst open, and Jude reached for his gun. He relaxed when Selma stalked inside, even though her expression was all kinds of fierce. “What’s this I hear about my girl being shot?”

  “I wasn’t shot, Jude was,” Ryanne replied.

  “Oh. Well.” Selma wiped her brow, in the universal sign for that’s a relief. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s got all those delicious muscles to slow down a bullet.” Today she wore a beaded tank top and a pair of short shorts, her legs on spectacular display. At fi
fty-two, she looked better than most women in their twenties. “So who do we have here?”

  Jude inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Obviously he suspected what Ryanne knew: Selma could destroy these nice people with a few careless words. If he didn’t admit he and Ryanne were dating, the truth could come out in other, less gentle ways.

  “Selma, meet my in-laws. Carrie, Russ, this is Selma, Ryanne’s mother.” He stretched out his arm to beckon her over. “Ryanne and I are dating.”

  Seeing no way out of this, Ryanne reluctantly took his hand and moved to his side.

  Carrie blanched. “I...I didn’t realize you were dating anyone.” She looked to be Selma’s age, but life hadn’t been as kind to her. Grief had aged her, the loss of her loved ones evident in every line on her face. She focused on Jude, desperation in her eyes. “You haven’t been in town very long. Aren’t you worried about rushing into a relationship? And what about your plan to return to Texas?”

  Ryanne gasped. “Texas?” He’d made plans to move?

  “I’m staying in Strawberry Valley,” Jude said, kissing Ryanne’s hand.

  “And they’re doing more than dating.” Selma settled her hands on her hips. “They’re practically engaged. Jude put a bun in my girl’s oven.”

  Carrie jolted; Russ gaped.

  Ryanne groaned, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. This. This was what she’d hoped to avoid.

  To Jude’s credit, he handled the abrupt announcement well, not apologizing to his in-laws, thereby insulting Ryanne, and not yelling at Selma. “We just found out.”

  Russ recovered from his shock first. The tall, thin man with adorable bifocals shook Jude’s hand. “Congratulations, son. You picked a stunner.”

  Wheezing now, Carrie pulled at the collar of her cardigan. “But you haven’t been in town very long,” she repeated.

  Laughing, Selma elbowed Russ in the stomach. “Only takes one night. Isn’t that right, handsome?”

  “Sure is,” Russ said with what looked to be a genuine grin. “This calls for a celebration.”